Breaking Bread
by magfreak
Summary: Tom and Sybil's first visit back to Downton forces Tom to face a long-standing fear. Prompt-based one-shot that's canon through Series 2.
1. Chapter 1

_OK, it's prompt time again! This one-shot is a response to three separate anon prompts that deal with similar issues._

1) I would be love to see you write a Sybil and Tom story where one of them has a phobia of some sorts, and the other person helps them deal with it.

2) The idea I had was that perhaps Tom could have a phobia of eating in public. It's sort of hard to explain, but it's something that I personally have a problem with as part of a more general fear of public humiliation. I thought it would be relevant since dining at downton was already a huge ordeal in canon. it wouldn't have been a problem when he was a chauffeur; o'brien once said he's supposed to eat separately anyways. Anyways if you want to do this its here but if not that's fine too, Thanks! _(Note: This one was submitted as a suggestion for the phobia fic above, and I liked the idea so I am using it.)_

3) How about one of Tom and Sybil coming back for Mary's wedding and the angst Tom goes thru in his mind on seeing the Crawley's and servants while on the ferry/train/car back to Downton for the first time since the announcement.

_Basically what I'm doing is writing Tom and Sybil's return for Mary and Matthew's wedding with the added wrinkle that Tom has a mild phobia of eating in front of others, which is a common manifestation of social anxiety disorder. I'll admit social anxiety and Tom Branson as we know him (confident, opinionated, etc.) seem difficult to align on the surface but I'm working off the idea that Tom has comfort zones within which his anxiety doesn't manifest. Where we see him on the show in S1 and S2 (in the garage, in the servants hall, in the motor, with Sybil), he's fine, but when he returns to the house as Sybil's husband, he's stepping into a figurative minefield best exemplified by the dining room, where he is not only treated as an unwanted intruder, but he is also made to stand out by the family (and the servants) for his opinions, his dress and his lack of experience with table etiquette at the level the Crawleys would expect of any of their more highfalutin' guests. I'm not an expert on phobias or social anxiety, so I apologize if this is terribly unrealistic._

_Finally, his is canon compliant through the end of S2 and begins amid Tom and Sybil's journey. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Sybil smiled as she watched Tom's knee bounce up and down next to hers. Tom's face, by contrast, betrayed no emotion as he stared out at the rapidly changing scenery outside of the window of the train taking them from Liverpool to Downton. The last time they'd been on this train, heading in the opposite direction, it was she who had sat next to the window, eager to see countryside she'd never beheld and with the eyes of an eager traveler for whom the journey was its own grand adventure. He'd leaned in to her to point out landmarks along the way—and to feel close to her. After so many years of standing apart, they'd happily dismissed propriety and took every opportunity that they could to touch. Arms around waists, shoulders pressed against each other, fingers intertwined. None of it was enough.

Now, almost a year later, touching was second nature to the point that Tom didn't notice Sybil's hand on his jittery knee until she squeezed it.

He turned to her and smiled sheepishly in response. With a smile, he leaned into her and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry I'm so distracted."

Sybil smiled back. "It's all right, though I wish you wouldn't be so nervous."

"Can you blame me?" He asked with a smirk.

"Do you think I'll have a look at the old place again and decide I miss it too much and want to stay?"

"Stranger things have happened," he replied. His tone was light, so Sybil knew he was teasing her, but she couldn't help but sense a tiny morsel of fear in his voice.

She put her hand on his cheek and ran her thumb along his lips. "Not _that_ strange."

Tom leaned in again and placed a kiss on her forehead, then leaned back into his chair. "I don't mean to sound as if I doubt you. You're never the one I worry about."

"Do you think _you _willl see Downton and decide you miss it too much and want to stay?"

Tom laughed, and Sybil grinned, happy to have eased his nerves a bit. "_No_," he said pointedly. After a moment, he added, "I just . . . it's going to be like walking into the drawing room all over again, except it'll be worse because at least then, they thought they had a chance to talk you out of it. Now, they'll know they lost the fight and hate me all the more. To say nothing of having to . . ."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "Having to what?"

Tom sighed. "_Dine_ with them."

Sybil squeezed his hand. "Surely, you don't think that telling my father you intend to make me your wife is less of a challenge than sitting across the table from him?"

Tom looked pointedly at her, and Sybil looked down apologetically.

"I'm sorry—I know dining with others causes you anxiety, and I don't mean to make light of it. What I do mean to say is that we broke their single most important rule in falling in love, so the worst of the damage is done and we're well on our way to repairing it. My father is who he is, but even he won't have you arrested for holding your spoon incorrectly, certainly not when he invited us back himself."

Tom rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze back to the window. "I wish you'd stop with the foolish notion that Lord Grantham sent us the money to travel."

Sybil sat back in her own chair. "I know it's foolish, but can you blame a forgiving daughter for wanting to believe the best in her parents?"

Tom looked back at her again. "No, but I can blame you for believing they're as forgiving as you."

Sybil smiled sadly. "I suppose you're right. Who else could it have been but Isobel."

"Mary and Matthew?"

Sybil shook her head. "She'd have told us directly. So would Edith. I guess I keep thinking it was papa because he'd be too embarrassed to write the words himself."

"He'd have told us directly too—if for no other reason than to remind me that I'm in his debt." Tom looked out the window again after he spoke and his knee began bouncing anew. Seeing it, Sybil took his hand in hers and interlaced their fingers.

"Think of it this way," she said, "As uncomfortable as you will be at the dinner table, your presence will be making papa uncomfortable as well."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. "How exactly is that supposed to get me through the terror of such a meal?"

Sybil shrugged innocently. "I don't know. I've always gotten a measure of delight out of ruffling his feathers."

Tom grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's because you're a cheeky devil."

Sybil laughed and laid her head down on his shoulder. Tom turned to the window again and tried to find peace in the moving vistas just outside the window, but he could feel himself grow increasingly restless the closer they drew to Downton. Leaning against him, Sybil quickly fell asleep, and Tom was left alone with his thoughts for most of the rest of the journey.

He smiled as he felt her breathe evenly beside him. Sybil's energy and enthusiasm—usually irrepressible when it came to living life, particularly now that it was on her own terms—was one of the things he loved most about her. But there could be no doubting the extent to which pregnancy sapped her physically. He had expressed concerns about making the trip with regard to their economic realities, but the truth was he was also a bit worried she was overtaxing herself. She insisted, of course, that pregnancy did not make her an invalid, and despite her need to "have a rest here and there," there was no need for him to be so worried. It didn't surprise him that she'd want to go back to Downton Abbey, particularly to celebrate Mary's wedding. He felt a swell of pride when she said she would not return without him, but he couldn't help but wish that what the return would demand from him didn't so perfectly align with what scared him the most.

As a chauffeur he hadn't spent any time in the upstairs dining room. The only real memory he had of it, in fact, was the evening when fate—and a glance in her direction—managed to save him from an ill conceived protest that would have done little except land him in jail and away from all the dreams he'd given himself room to have. Now, when he tried to picture himself in that room again, not receding into the scenery as servants would be required to do, but front and center at the table, he'd feel his heart start to race, his throat go dry and his hands clam up. In the past, when he'd been in situations that required him to dine with people he did not trust or know well, he could always find a ready excuse to extricate himself. Usually, though, he avoided altogether eating with others—save his closest family and friends. It was a trait that surprised Sybil to learn about him, given how confident he was in every other arena of life. He couldn't really explain it. He'd grown so accustomed to sidestepping his fear that he sometimes forgot it still had the power to consume him.

But almost any other situation would be easy to dodge. the humiliation that was likely to come tonight and for as long as they were in that house could not be avoided. Sybil wanted them to be a united front, and he loved her for her faith in him—even after learning that his courage sometimes failed him—but what if in the middle of this visit, he fell apart. What if he couldn't measure up to the man she loved and deserved? That was his biggest fear of all—failing to be what she needed. As he felt the panic well up inside him, Tom closed his eyes and focused on her steady breathing beside him and tried to match his with hers. He felt himself slowly begin to calm.

He had to face his fears, and he would do it for her.

**xxx**

When Tom and Sybil finally reached Downton, Pratt was waiting for them just off the platform. Sybil greeted him brightly, and Pratt responded in kind, though Tom couldn't help but see a stiffness in his posture as he took the suitcase from Tom's hand. Tom had spent a fair amount of time during the journey considering exactly how Sybil's family would receive him in his new role as Sybil's husband. If he hadn't spent an equal amount of time wondering how the servants would react, it was because he knew they'd likely behave as Pratt was now: disinterested, evasive, barely able to contain judgment and forgetting entirely what had been—until the moment his relationship with Sybil was revealed—a solid friendship.

It had always been one of the more puzzling things about life in service, the fact that the system was propped up and defended, not merely by those in power, but also by those the system abused. As a chauffeur, Tom had not shared many meals with his colleagues early on, but as his friendship with Anna, Bates, Gwen and others strengthened, his fears about eating with others fell away and he came to appreciate and even enjoy from time to time the lively discussion that accompanied time spent in the servants hall. He knew there would be no welcome for him below stairs now, but even so he felt an urge to remind them that he'd not forgotten where he'd come from, and that he remained their equal and friend—even if none of them wanted to hear it.

As they neared the gates, Tom noticed Sybil looking out the window and watching the house rise up before them.

"It really doesn't change," she said, quietly.

"Neither figuratively nor literally," was Tom's reply.

Sybil looked back at him with a smile. "It does look smaller than I remember."

Tom sighed. "Your world grew larger when you left, so it takes up a relatively smaller space in your imagination now."

"You're rather philosophical today," she teased.

"It's a defense mechanism."

Sybil smiled and squeezed his hand. "Thank you for coming with me. "

"Thank you for wanting me to come."

Sybil leaned in to kiss his cheek, then looked back at the window again and grinned upon seeing her family gathered outside the door. "A proper welcome!"

As the motor came to a stop Tom took a deep breath, already feeling Robert's glaring eyes on him through the window.

"A united front, remember?" Sybil prodded.

Tom nodded and opened the door.

**xxx**

Once inside, everyone proceeded to the library, where Cora, Mary and Edith surrounded Sybil and peppered her with questions about her current state. Robert had made some comment about having something to do somewhere else, and Matthew was (Tom presumed) at his job in Ripon. So thinking it would do well to allow Sybil some time along with her sisters and mother, Tom excused himself to her room.

It was a funny place to be alone. He'd imagined the inside of it so many times over the years and what she might be doing. He'd turned it into something of a metaphor for her heart, hiding away the things she wasn't ready to reveal to him.

Now, of course, looking around, he saw that it was just a room. Fancy and full of expensive furnishings, but still just a room. Driven by curiosity, Tom walked over to the window and looked out to the tree below, beneath which he had stood looking up to her on more nights than had been advisable. He hadn't thought back then of what it would be like on this side of Downton's walls. Even when he knew she'd go with him, he hadn't thought much beyond their departure, having been too focused on taking the leap to think about the landing.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing at the window, when he heard the sound of the gong. It wasn't particularly loud, but it startled him. He knew that it was intended to be a suggestion to members of the family that they head upstairs to change for dinner. But to Tom it felt like a warning shot, an unfriendly reminder of what awaited him. And anyway, he had no dinner clothes to change into.

_An absurd exercise, if ever there was one_, he thought.

Tom began pacing the length of the room, trying not to think about what dinner would be like. But instead of consuming his nervous energy, the act merely exacerbated it, so after a few minutes he sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room. He felt his hands start to sweat so he began rubbing them against the tops of his legs. Abruptly, he stood and started pacing again, roughly tugging at his tie. He felt the room start to close in on him, and he shut his eyes tightly, as if doing so might push his heightening nerves back under control. The panic might have consumed him completely, if Sybil hadn't walked in.

She noticed his state immediately and without a word took him gently by the arm and walked him over to the bed, pushing him to sit at the edge of it. Standing in front of him, she grabbed his hands and pulled them away from his collar, gently loosening the tie and unbuttoning the top button. Tom's eyes were still closed, but his face had relaxed, and Sybil took it as a positive sign. She walked in between his legs and drew his head into her chest. She smiled as she felt him relax slightly into her embrace. She took several deep breaths, hoping that his breathing would mimic hers. Eventually, the fists that his hands were in loosened and he wrapped his arms around her.

Sybil leaned down and placed a soft peck on the top of his head. Tom looked up, and Sybil saw the makings of tears in his eyes. Smiling softly, she leaned down and kissed his lips, then ran her thumb across his cheek to wipe the tear that the kiss had released.

"Oh, my darling, would that I could take these demons away," she whispered.

Tom smiled a bit sadly. "You do."

"If you don't want to come down for dinner, we don't have to. I can say that I don't feel well or I'm tired from the journey and you want to keep me company."

Tom pulled her in again. "I think they'd know it was a ruse, and anyway, I promised a united front, and I want to deliver."

"If you're sure," Sybil said tentatively.

Tom pulled her close and buried himself in her again. She felt him nodding against her. "If I don't go down tonight, I'll have to tomorrow—I can't avoid it forever."

Stepping away again, she lifted his chin toward her with her hand. "It'll be long and painful and awkward and all the things that you fear."

Tom laughed humorlessly. "Thank you for the reminders," he said sarcastically.

Sybil smiled. "My point is that after all of that, I'll still be your wife at the end of the night, and perhaps someday it truly will feel like dining with family."

Tom sighed, not feeling confident that he'd ever reach that eventuality.

Sybil kissed him one more time. "Look at me when you feel out of sorts."

"I'll do my best. I just wish I could turn it off."

"I know. But I'll be here when it's over, no matter what."

**xxx**

At Sybil's suggestion, they went down early. He questioned the idea at first, but she insisted that additional time in the drawing room would help him get settled in with everyone before dinner was actually served. Isobel, Matthew and Mary were the first to join them, which pleased Sybil. Matthew had made some gentle overtures of friendship, which both Tom and Sybil appreciated, and Isobel remained a steadfast supporter. Tom momentarily thought about asking Isobel outright if she'd sent them the money to attend the wedding, so he could thank her, but Robert and Cora walked in and he decided against it.

The look—first surprise, then dismay—on Robert's face as he exchanged glances with Tom actually served to amuse Tom a bit. It was as if each time Robert looked over to the man next to his daughter, Robert expected to see someone other than his old chauffeur. Tom wasn't entirely surprised by this. He knew aristocrats and other people of wealth and means were so used to having their way that simply willing something to be true was usually enough. In Robert's case, though, no amount of wishing would steal Tom away from Sybil's heart, and each time he looked at Tom, he was awash in a new wave of petulance over it.

Tom looked away and wondered if that was what Sybil was referring to when she said she enjoyed ruffling his feathers.

_Maybe dinner won't be a terrible disaster after all._

Tom took a deep breath and hoped that his fraying nerves were not so obvious to anyone but himself and Sybil, but before he could convince himself that he was calm, Carson announced that dinner was served. The words had barely been spoken when Sybil grabbed hold of Tom's hand and gave him an encouraging smile. "Just look at me when you need me," she whispered.

He nodded, his throat too dry for words.

As they walked into the dining room she gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go so she could walk to the other side of the table, just across from him. Tom sat down and tried not to look at anyone else, lest he discover that they were all staring at him, the obvious sore thumb. He only looked up from his plate for the first time when Carson haughtily took Tom's napkin from the plate and threw it across Tom's lap. Tom sought Carson's eyes, but there was no friendship or support to be found in them. In any case, Tom was grateful for the napkin, which gave his hands something to fidget with away from everyone's view.

The first two courses were quiet, though Tom couldn't mange more than a single bite. He hated the idea of leaving his food untouched, knowing that it would likely just be thrown out, but he genuinely feared that he'd be sick all over the table if he put anything in his churning stomach. If anyone noticed, they didn't say anything. Tom himself didn't say much, Mary and Matthew caught everyone up on the final preparations for the wedding, and Sybil was grateful to them both, knowing that they'd chosen to dominate the start of the conversation to take heat off Tom.

But the elephant in the room would not be ignored forever, and Violet was the first to strike.

"Is it an Irish tradition?" she asked.

After a long pause, Tom looked up and realized she was talking to him. He glanced at Sybil who seemed puzzled by the question as well.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"She means not changing," Robert answered, without bothering to make eye contact with him.

Tom looked down at his brown suit. It was comfortable for travel. That was why he'd chosen it this morning. He rather liked it, but it was not his best.

_The best would not have been good enough either_, he thought.

"Of course not, Granny," Sybil spit out, not bothering to conceal her annoyance.

"It might have been," Violet said airily. "You don't change on the first night of a voyage."

Tom and Sybil looked at one another again, and Sybil offered him a smile, though he recognized disappointment in her eyes. They would not all be as forgiving or as welcoming as she had hoped. That disappointment, however well contained, moved him.

I _won't disappoint her._

Tom took a sip of his drink and said, "No, my lady. I don't own a set of tails. Or a dinner jacket either. I wouldn't get any use out of them."

"Well, I hope you own a morning coat since you're here for a wedding," Robert said.

Tom swallowed. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

"We live a completely different kind of life, Papa," Sybil said, wishing her family would just _understand_.

"Obviously," Robert replied.

Sybil took a deep breath to try to keep her irritation at bay and wondered whether hiding away in her room with Tom hadn't been the better option. He'd not have to endure the thing that he feared and neither of them would have to endure the absurd comments. She looked over at Tom again to see how he was faring and saw that Carson was bringing around the third course.

"Could you lower it a bit, please, Mr. Carson," Tom said quietly.

Sybil fought tears as she watched Tom's shaking hands reach for the serving utensils. She couldn't blame anyone for not knowing what a herculean task simply sitting down to dinner was for Tom, but she could blame them wanting to make it even harder.

As Carson got to her and lowered the serving plate to the appropriate height, Mary said, "You should buy a Downton wardrobe and leave it here. Then you won't have to pack when you—"

"I'm sorry," Sybil said, standing abruptly. "I'm suddenly feeling very ill."

"Heavens!" Cora exclaimed. "Are you all right? Should we call Dr. Clarkson?"

"No," Sybil said. "I just need to step away from here for a moment."

Tom, who'd stood quickly when Sybil did, immediately went over to her side of the table. He saw an apologetic look in her eyes and without another word, he offered her his arm so they could walk out together. Neither of them spoke until they were in the main hall, just off the staircase.

"You didn't have to do that," Tom said. "I was struggling, but I was getting on."

Sybil smiled softly. "You were brilliant. I just couldn't take it anymore. 'Is it an Irish tradition?' How thoroughly absurd! She knew what she was asking and sought nothing but to shame us for our clothing. To make no mention how preposterous it is to suggest that two people unable to pay for a pair of train tickets buy a whole new set of clothes just to keep here!"

Tom couldn't help but laugh. "I honestly don't think Mary meant anything by that."

Sybil sighed and leaned into Tom, who returned her embrace. "I know she didn't," Sybil said. "I just wish she'd think about what she was saying before she said it. I wish they _all_ would."

After holding each other quietly for several minutes, Tom offered, "I was doing OK, I think."

Sybil pulled back and looked into his eyes. "You were? Honestly?"

Tom nodded. "I didn't actually eat, but your father and grandmother . . . the annoyance actually helped take my mind off what I was afraid of."

Sybil smiled. "So they are good for something."

Tom bit his lip, then asked, "Are you sure you want to go back upstairs?"

Sybil tilted her head in surprise. "Are you really asking to go back in there?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders.

"Well," Sybil said, thinking out loud. "It'll likely get worse before it gets better, but they can't get used to us if we keep avoiding them."

"The only way out is through."

Sybil squeezed Tom again. "Thank you for your courage."

"What courage? I'm afraid of dining with people."

"Courage isn't a lack of fear," Sybil said serenely, "but a willingness to forge ahead spite of it." She pulled away and tugged on his hand, leading him back to the dining room.

Naturally, all conversation stopped and all eyes were on them as they entered the room again.

"Feeling better already?" Robert asked skeptically.

"Yes," Sybil said without explanation. "Much."

Tom took a deep breath before taking his seat again. Once seated, he smiled across to Sybil, always his tether to the things that mattered. He wasn't entirely comfortable, but he was with her, so he knew he wasn't alone.

She beamed proudly at him as he took a bite.


	2. Chapter 2

_Even though I initially wrote this story as a one-shot, repmet requested a continuation as part of my holiday drabble bonanza on tumblr. At the time I posted this there, I'd only done the first part, but I knew I'd make the post here longer, so here it is. This picks up on the night Tom and Sybil's first dinner back, with Mary having just told Sybil that the Grey family are coming to dinner the next night. It also makes reference to the run-in that Matthew and Tom have in town the following day when Tom is considering moving to the Grantham Arms._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_The only way out is through._

_The only way out is through._

_The only way out is through._

Since she and Tom had contemplated how difficult it would be for him to contend with his anxieties and her family's judgments at dinner, the phrase had become a kind of mantra.

At every awkward pause in conversation. Whenever she saw Tom's hands shaking as he moved his fork to his mouth. Every time a new course presented itself like a fresh set of hurdles before him.

She had no doubt that he—_they_—would make it through the visit unscathed and would return home to Dublin glad to have been there to witness a special moment in Matthew and Mary's lives but also glad to be done with it. She only wished that it didn't feel as if the longer they were there the longer the path _through_ became.

Sybil had always understood that no visit was ever going to be as bad as the first. Even if Tom's phobias did not manifest, the prodigal daughter's return home was never going to be painless. Sybil had been buoyed by the arrival of the anonymous note with the passage home, hopeful that the judgments she knew would come would be tempered by the unconditional love that she'd always believed had been at the root of her relationship with her family. And she believed, even now, having sat through ridiculous questions about their attire, their daily lives and Irish politics, that whatever awkwardness would linger during future visits to Downton would be the kind that she and Tom could laugh at, even secretly delight in.

But as she walked back up the stairs to her room, having just heard from Mary about what was to be expected the following night with the Grey family, Sybil wondered if perhaps God was having his revenge at them. Not over falling in love and marrying over everyone's objections, but over some silly cheekiness from childhood. Tom talking back at one of his grade school teachers, and Sybil sneaking out of the nursery and laughing as she heard the nanny's irritated cries echo through the attic. The kind of thing that is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, but that is seen as a terrible wrong to the adult who had to deal with it at the time.

Larry Grey had been an amusing enough playmate as a child, but in retrospect, Sybil could see that their friendship had been very much a byproduct of limiting her parents were of her social circle growing up. She considered not even mentioning to Tom the fact that the following night's dinner guests included a former admirer of hers, but she didn't want him to walk into what she knew would feel like another battle without a weapon either.

He was reading quietly in the armchair when she walked into the room. He'd gone from the drawing room almost as soon as the men passed through. She knew he wanted to say hello to the staff. She couldn't guess how long that might have taken, but he'd obviously been back in the room long enough to calm himself down after dinner's anxiety.

He smiled softly at her as she stepped in and the two proceeded to change into their bedclothes silently. She had told Anna, when Anna had come to help her dress earlier, that she needn't return that night, so the solitude and silence by which they readied for bed offered a measure of peaceful ritual. It wasn't until Tom was already in bed that Sybil mentioned who would be joining them for dinner the following night.

"Were you keen on him?" Tom asked when she got explaining the presence of Larry.

"No," she said with an easy sigh, "I don't think so. I can hardly remember to be honest. I hadn't thought about him or the Greys in ages—hadn't seen them since before the war. I just didn't want there to be any surprises for you tomorrow, that's all."

Tom closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headboard as Sybil snuggled into him. She could hear his heartbeat and sensed immediately when it began to beat faster beneath her. "I was hoping that the wedding would be the only dinner with guests, though that was a foolish notion, looking back on it."

"We'll get through it," Sybil said, squeezing his side.

"Thank you for the 'we,'" Tom replied.

Sybil sat up again and kissed him. "We're always _we_, you and I." They looked at one another for a long moment after the kiss, and Sybil said quietly, "I don't it doesn't feel like it now, but we will be home in Dublin before you know it, and nothing that happened here will have mattered."

Tom nodded, but Sybil could see that the small measure of relief that he'd felt at gotten through dinner tonight was done. Without another word, she nestled back into him, with her hand over his too quickly beating heart. She fell asleep before she felt it slowing and, indeed, it was several hours before Tom could calm himself enough to join her in slumber, no matter how many times he told himself he'd need all the strength he could get the next night.

**xxx**

The following evening, Tom watched from the seat by the window as Anna helped Sybil into a dress he recognized from "the old days."

"Thank you, Anna," Sybil said when Anna was finished. "I'm surprised it fits as well as it does considering my waistline is not what it was."

"I would have had to let it out a bit if you were further along, so the timing is right."

"Thank you," Sybil said with a smile.

Anna smiled back at Sybil with a curtsey and looked over at Tom. "Good evening, Mr. Branson, I hope you enjoy dinner. From what I could see in the kitchen earlier and Mrs. Patmore's level of stress, I dare say it will be very good."

Tom smiled. "And here I'd rather go down and eat stew with you."

Anna shook her head good-naturedly. "I don't think Mr. Carson would be too happy with that."

After she left, Sybil walked over to where Tom was next to the window and said, "Anna could give everyone lessons on how to behave. She is as easy with me as she is with you."

"She's the kindest person in this house by a mile. It would be difficult for anyone to match that."

Sybil smiled, then lifted up her hands, as if inviting him to comment on her appearance.

"I love that frock," he said quietly.

"I know," Sybil answered putting her hands on his chest. "I wore it for you."

"Not for your family or the occasion?"

Sybil shook her head. And it was true. She had been wearing it the day she told him she would marry him, and she knew he'd recognize it too. Anna had brought it out one of Sybil's old trunks at Mary's suggestion and though Sybil had been hesitant to be more fancily dressed than Tom would be, when she spotted this one, she couldn't resist. She was making a concession to her family, yes, but more importantly she was offering Tom a reminder that her old life was full of memories that paved the way for their life now and he needn't fear them.

"Maybe it's something in the attic for me," Tom joked.

"Would you really wear it?"

Tom shook his head and sighed, looking out the window again. "I thought last night was like climbing a mountain and it turns out that was merely a molehill."

Sybil sighed. Even though his posture seemed relaxed and even though he'd just joked with her. She could see the tension building in the way his shoulders were set. There was a tiny bead of sweat on his brow as if the effort not to seem anxious was taking all of his physical strength. Sybil pulled him into a tight hug and Tom practically collapsed into her arms. Pushed against him, she could feel him trying to take deep breaths to calm himself, though his breathing was unsteady as he exhaled.

"The only way out is through," she whispered.

She felt him nodding against her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to form words.

_The only way out is through._

**xxx**

Because it was a "festive" occasion, the party remained in the drawing room longer than usual. At first Tom thought this might help ease him into the thick of the event, but in truth it just delayed the inevitable.

Despite his discomfort, he had encouraged Sybil to mingle among her family and friends, and not feel obligated to stand by him all night. So for the most part, he stood alone in a corner, holding his glass of whiskey so tightly at times he had to remind himself to loosen his grip lest he break the glass.

It didn't take long for the Larry character to come find Tom and introduce himself. Even if Sybil had not mentioned that he'd once fancied Sybil, Tom would have easily guessed as much from his pointed questions and plainly judgmental comments. Their conversation was short, though, oddly enough, it served to irritate Tom in such a way that it momentarily took his mind off the dinner ahead. Once he'd told Larry just how little he thought of his line of questioning, Tom stepped away and walked over to Matthew, who happened to be alone just then, having been just left behind by Mary, who'd gone to speak to her mother.

"Are you still wishing you'd moved to the Grantham Arms?" Matthew asked.

Tom laughed, welcoming momentary relief that the joke had brought. "I doubt the barkeeper there would be throwing me such stern looks as Carson," Tom replied.

"I can understand that," Matthew said.

"You can?"

"He disapproves of you only slightly more than he disapproves of me. Even Robert's expectations for Mary's husband are not so high as Carson's."

Tom smiled. "I suppose that's true."

Sybil looked over to him just then and smiled, seeing him speaking with Matthew and seeming more comfortable, even if only marginally so. She moved as if about to join them when Carson finally announced dinner and just like that fear began to squeeze Tom's heart again. Slowly the party began to make its way to the door, but Tom couldn't move. His feet felt like bricks of lead. As he watched the other members of the party move through the door, he felt like he was in a tunnel that got longer and longer with every second. His collar began to choke him, and just as he was bringing his hand up to pull the imaginary noose around his neck, he felt Sybil's hand on his.

"Are you all right, darling?" she asked quietly.

His breaths were shallow but he managed to squeak out, "Yes."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes, trying to find something in them like disappointment or shame. There was none.

"United front, remember," he said, trying to pull his anxiety back like a monster on a leash.

"You don't have anything to prove, all right?" she said, squeezing his hand. "Don't do anything that you don't feel comfortable doing. United front doesn't just mean you doing things for me, but the other way around as well."

Tom nodded. "I'm all right, love. Go on. Just give me a moment."

Sybil nodded reluctantly and turned to go. The room was near empty now, only Violet and another woman Tom didn't recognize were at the door. Sybil joined them there and Tom, as he took his first step, remembered his glass of whiskey where he'd left it earlier. He walked over to it and drank it in one go. The burning sensation down his throat was like a bucket of ice on his face. Sharp and numbing.

_The only way out is through_, he thought and finally followed the rest of the group to the dining room to meet his fate. _The only way out is through._

**xxx**

Tom's stomach was in knots during the first course. Unable to look up from his plate lest the room begin to cave in on him, he stared determinedly at the cheese and lobster tart on his plate. He broke it into several pieces but merely moved them around on the plate. He tried several times to take a bite, but his hands were tingling and everything around him had begun to spin. Whenever he lifted the fork toward his mouth, he'd see his hand shake violently and lowered it again.

_Something is wrong_. The thought came together amid the fog that was clouding all else in his mind. His anxiety was building slowly and powerfully like a tidal wave pulling back, just before it crests, but there was something else too. He didn't know what it was but he could feel it, like a poison slowly working its way through his system. His mouth dried up and his palms and forehead began to sweat. He felt himself swaying in his chair.

The second course came and unable to manage to even serve himself, he waved it off. Next to him, Edith had tried to make small talk but he could only manage one-word answers. He was too preoccupied with the war inside his mind, his body, to think of anything else. Slowly, his vision started narrowing, pulling him away from the room against his will. He wanted to claw his way back but could barely lift his limbs. His hands, which were resting on the edge of the table, began gripping the edge as if holding on for dear life.

Noticing, Edith finally asked, as quietly as she could, "Tom, is everything all right?"

He was breathless and glassy-eyed. "Sybil?" he asked disoriented, as if he didn't know where he was.

Alarmed, Edith looked over at her sister, who had just noticed that something seemed wrong. She immediately stood from her chair to walk over to him.

"Heavens!" Cora exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"Something's wrong with Tom," Edith said, as Sybil made it around to him.

"He looks like he's had a few too many," Larry said from his spot on the other end of the table."

"Sybil, what is the meaning of this?" Robert asked, sternly.

But Sybil ignored him. Tom's forehead was warm, but his hands felt cold and clammy. "Darling, are you all right? Tom . . . Tom . . . can you hear me?"

Tom tried to look at her, but he couldn't focus his eyes. "Sybil?"

As Larry continued to snicker, Mary, who was sitting next to him asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I'm just enjoying this vivid display of Irish character," Larry replied.

"This is not Irish _character _and certainly not Tom's," Sybil said, growing both angry and worried sick by the second. "This is—"

"This was you!" Anthony Strallan called out, interrupting Sybil.

"I don't know what you mean," Larry said.

"Yes, you do," Anthony insisted, "I saw you. You put something in his drink, didn't you? Just before we came in."

Sybil's eyes widened, suddenly frightened about what a panic attack mixed with whatever concoction Larry had brewed might do to Tom. "Tom! Tom! Can you hear me? Look at me, darling! Can you stand up?"

Still disoriented, Tom somehow heard Sybil's plea and nodded without looking at her. Isobel stood too, to help bring him to his feet.

"What a beastly thing to do," Edith said.

"Oh, come on, Edith," Larry said. "That's not like you. You could always take a joke."

"A bully's defense," Mary said. "Listen everyone, Mr. Grey has given my brother-in-law something to make him appear drunk."

"Could it be drink?" Violet asked, alarmed.

"No, not drink. Some horrible pill."

"We're going upstairs," Sybil said, barely managing to hold him up. Seeing her struggle, Matthew stood and offered to help, immediately taking the brunt of Tom's weight. After they'd left a flabbergasted dinner party behind and were in the hallway, Alfred came up behind them and took over for Sybil. By this point, Tom was all but unconscious. If Sybil wasn't crying at how thoroughly Larry had humiliated her husband, it was because she was too angry to waste her energy on tears. She followed as Alfred and Matthew more or less dragged Tom back up the stairs to Sybil's room.

Once they'd laid him down on the bed, Sybil asked Alfred to bring her dinner up on a tray and some tea for when Tom woke up.

"So you're not coming back down, then?" Matthew asked once Alfred had gone.

Sybil shook her head. "I can't leave him. Lord knows what Larry did—if I weren't so worried about Tom or with child, I'd go down and throw him out myself."

Matthew smiled. "I'll take care of it myself."

"It's nice of you to say, Matthew, but I'm sure the last thing papa would want is for you to make a scene by forcing a member of the party to leave—even someone as vile as Larry Grey."

"Well, he ruined a dinner in honor of my future wife. I think if I don't defend her honor, Mary will be quite disappointed in me, no matter what Robert has to say."

Sybil smiled, touched. "Thank you, Matthew."

"Before I go do see Larry out, though, I wonder if I could ask you something."

"What?"

"My best man was going to be a close friend from Manchester, but we leaned that he backed out a few days ago, just before you arrived. He's ill—too ill to make the journey. The point is, I can't get married without a best man. Do you think Tom would do the job?"

Sybil was dumbfounded. "You really mean it?"

Matthew nodded. "Assuming this won't incapacitate him for more than tonight."

"I'll ask him when he's better. I know he'll make the effort regardless of how he feels, and anyway, the wedding is still two days away."

"I'll hope for his speedy recovery then," Matthew said before taking his leave.

He hadn't been gone long when Mrs. Hughes returned with Sybil's dinner and a tray for Tom. Sybil woke him, helped him drink half a cup of tea and managed to keep him awake long enough to remove his shoes and suit. Once he laid down again, he was asleep within seconds.

It was past midnight when he finally woke, seeming more like himself than he'd been all night. After finishing her dinner, Sybil had changed into her nightdress and sat on the bed next to him with a book, waiting for him to stir. She'd all but given hope that he'd wake before tomorrow when he sat up, smacking his lips together as if trying to rid his mouth of a foul taste.

"What happened?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Sybil quickly handed him a glass of water, which he eagerly took. "Larry proved himself a more despicable creature than I'd imagined. He put Lord knows what in your drink. You all but fainted at the dinner table. At first I thought it was a panic attack."

After finishing the glass of water, Tom took a deep breath. "I thought I did have one—at least that's the last thing I remember . . . standing in the drawing room and feeling like one was coming on. After that it's a blank. Was I horrible?"

Sybil smiled sweetly. "No, of course not. You just seemed disoriented is all, then you practically fell asleep on your feet. He might have given you a barbiturate . . . whatever it was, combined with the adrenaline that must have been pumping through your body at the time, it likely overwhelmed your senses and shut your body down."

Tom managed a smile. "Thank you, Nurse Branson."

"Please don't thank me," Sybil said. "I'm sorry that I did not see this coming."

"How could you have? Who'd have guessed he'd have done anything like this?"

Sybil sighed. "No one, I suppose, but even so."

Tom turned to put the glass on the night table on his side of the bed, then faced Sybil again, taking her hands in his. "Please don't worry about me, love. The way I see it, he did me a favor."

"How can you say that?"

Tom laughed, then grabbed his head as if the act itself had been painful. "Well, he did get me out of one dinner, didn't he? Now, we're one day closer to going home again, and your family doesn't suspect that your husband is a basket case."

Sybil smiled. "You're not a basket case."

Tom looked down, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment.

Seeing the denial of her words in his face, she repeated, "You're _not_ a basket case."

"I'm glad you don't think so," he said with a sad smile.

"No one with that label could possibly look at the silver lining of any situation as you are so clearly doing right now."

"Well, as long as you don't think I am one, that's all that matters.

"Matthew doesn't think you're one, either. In fact, he wants you to be his best man."

"What?" Tom asked in wide-eyed shock.

Sybil nodded.

"Why?"

"Because you're family now," Sybil said simply. "He asked after we brought you back up here."

"Did you say anything about my anxiety."

"Of course not!" Sybil exclaimed. "They don't need to know. Why would Matthew or anyone else in the family suspect anything other than the truth that Larry Grey played a horrible trick on you? If anything, seeing you so helpless and not knowing the cause to be anything but another person's absurd trickery endeared you to them all the more."

"So I really should thank him," Tom said with a laugh.

Sybil laughed too. "We'll send him a note tomorrow."

Tom laid back down and Sybil snuggled up next to him. The night's events already a memory to be laughed at. There would be more dinners, of course, but none would be so bad as this one had been, and that in itself served to make the rest easier. Larry Grey had done Tom a favor. He'd reminded Tom that Tom was never alone and that he was, despite his phobia, really rather lucky to be where he was—which was in Sybil's arms at the end of this and every day.


End file.
